arriving

Sometimes when I travel I am mesmerized by the landscape that passes by me, or if it's air travel -- passes below me. At other times, it is as if I am in a bubble, just vaguely aware of the physical world through which I am speeding. Not completely tuned out, but not tuned in either.

I'd say this trip is more of the latter mode. I'm navigating through familiar, comfortable airports. The weather is blessedly unexceptional. In flight, a glance tells me we're over a lake, another that we're over the ocean. I eat, I doze.

It's a form of self preservation. I am coming off of a busy set of weeks and I will be returning to one that can only be busier. And my week away is not exactly slow paced. I'm in Warsaw for only three nights -- here to see friends and my sister. That is the sole purpose of these short visits to "the old country." I soak in nothing, indulge myself not at all, do no exploration. I just want to spend time with the people who matter to me over here. So it's all rather hectic and because of this (and because I have hacked my way with that blasted cough for the better part of Fall), I try to space out during the actual time in transit.

Still, in closing myself off in my tiny bubble, I never once underestimate this huge momentum of change that happens as I move further and further from home. It is the lesson of travel -- it at once underscores how close you feel to those you must leave behind and, too, it humbles you. All those convictions, routines, habits, beliefs -- they may feel rock solid back home, but when you venture out, you understand how puny your little enclave is. The world is vast, complicated and beautiful. In travel, as you slog through all the inconvenience, hassle, perturbation, you are never more than a breath away from something beautiful.


So, humbled, tired, missing, eager to see everyone in Warsaw -- this is what I fly with. Landing in Detroit, then Paris (a minute's pause to drink a steamy milky coffee and munch on a croissant)...






And finally -- Warsaw.

I arrive in the early afternoon.

The suitcase does not arrive with me.

There's no reason for it to be delayed -- unless someone unpacked it and is having a feast! I'm told it's in Paris. I can only hope it'll make its way eventually to my Tamka home.

Ah, my Tamka home. Tamka is the name of the Warsaw street where the old prewar building still stands. (It's the one with the stack of oddly shaped balconies.)


 



My apartment is on the third floor (no elevator!).  Is it home? Of course it is. (As always, it benefits from the tender oversight by my sister. Christmas lights, poinsettia and all.)






My sister is with me now. We set out to the mega grocery store (Carrefour) across the river. I must shop for tomorrow's big Tamka dinner.

It's really quite odd to be shopping at this French chain here, right by the Dworzec Wilenski -- this is the station from which trains head to the north and east of Warsaw. It is where we would take the train to my grandparents' village home. Great big lumbering locomotive, pulling wagons filled with village people: women with foods, school kids, men -- sometimes sober, sometimes not so much, and us -- two city kids on our way to village life.

Today, my sister and I catch an efficient new metro toward the station. Carrefour is in the belly of a shopping mall and Christmas decorations abound. It's not as if we didn't have decorations sixty years ago, but they didn't abound.






Late, late in the evening, my suitcase arrives.

I unpack quickly. Did all my foods pass inspection? Yep, all there. Even the bunch of cilantro, because I wasn't sure I'd find cilantro in Poland. (Did you know that cilantro is the same as coriander? Did you know that certain Germanic and Ashkenazi Jewish people have a gene that causes them to be revulsed by its taste? Ed is one such person -- he tells me it's like eating soap.)

Familiar foods, purchased there, appearing here, on my Warsaw kitchen counter -- how wistfully warm it feels to see it all before me now!





Time to unwind. Rest up. Exhale.

and I'm off

My flight leaves today, just after noon. I have time. I surely have time: to throw things into my case. To look after Sparrow this morning. To eat breakfast with Ed, to tidy up the farmhouse. To throw a glance at the farmette lands. Who knows! Maybe they will be snow covered when I return.







Time... To greet this little guy...






(Sparrow joins us for breakfast...)






But it is a squeeze. I need to step gingerly. And this is the crucial part: I need to not forget anything. My travel lists are nearly always in my head. I have to make sure all the loose threads dancing a jig in there are all accounted for, tied up, remembered.


And then I am off. To Detroit, Paris, and finally -- Warsaw. Moderately short connecting times. My next post should be tomorrow, from Poland.

Tuesday

How did Tuesday come so quickly? It was just Monday seconds ago!

Well, time to get serious. Early breakfast.






And now out comes the suitcase. Going to Poland prior to Christmas is not good for packing. You take bulky clothes and stuff for people. And, since I'll be cooking for a crowd, I want to take some favorite ingredients. Trying to understand which foods you can bring into the EU is so difficult that I give up and take my chances. (I'm surprised that for personal use, you can actually bring in any number of veggies.) My suitcase will almost certainly be searched. Let them take out what they want. Plantaines, beans, serrano peppers -- cross my fingers and pack them in.


A few appointments, a few errands, zip this way and that and before I know it,  it's afternoon. Picking up Snowdrop gives me a chance to slow down to her pace. I put everything aside: the afternoon belongs to her.

Not surprisingly, she plunges into playing "ship at sea." She hadn't wanted to stop last night. Today, we're building a boat again.  Only bigger and better -- with a pillow that serves as a kitchen and more pillows that are to be sleeping quarters.

Want to join me, gaga? Ahah?













It's good energy here! -- she tells us.

And now we flip again and she is the book writer, the story teller...












Suddenly, things get serious. She abandons ship and sets up her office.






I hint that she is cluttering her desk. She assures me she needs every single item on it.






Finally, in out last minutes of play, she dances. She twirls. She wants me to dance and twirl. I get dizzy on a swing, no way can I spin in circles. She shows me how. We practice.






We need dance ribbons.





We twirl some more...


Until it's time for her to leave. See you next week, Snowdrop.
Why?
I'm going away for a week. You know that.
Where are you going?
Poland, France. The usual.
Will you bring back a surprise?


Evening: dangerously close to Wednesday. And still, I keep the traditional slow pace. It is our way to keep things calm when winter dark settles in. It's a habit: unwind with the darkness. Exhale. Relish in all that the day delivered. Don't fuss about what tomorrow may bring.

Monday

Following days of rain, this morning we have a dusting of snow. I'll take it. Even in meager amounts, it's a pretty sugar coating on the farmette lands.





I am in a hurry. This week is crazy busy. Nice, sure, all nice -- that is, if all goes well: there are potential glitches, but I will be optimistic! Nevertheless, without doubt, the days are packed. More packed than my suitcase, which remains open and waiting. Not to worry, I'm not leaving until Wednesday. There are many hours between now and Wednesday.

Except, of course, today is devoted not to thoughts of travel but to my awesome pair of grandkids. Sparrow in the morning, joined by his sister in the afternoon.

Let's start the day with a healthy breakfast. Sparrow and I wait for Ed to come down.






One easy way to get Ed to hustle is to tell him that Stop Sign has come around and is waiting for her grub. I'd fed the cheepers and put out her dry food, but the cat is smart and she hangs and hangs and hangs until someone notices her mournful face and comes out with something more to her liking. She likes best real meat leftovers, but we almost never eat meat so on nearly every day she is reconciled to the canned stuff. I can imagine her sigh of resignation as she looks at the pathetic glob of "kitty pate.".

Okay, Ed is here!






("Hey, can I show off my ever improving sitting skills??")






Afternoon. As I pull up on the farmette road with both kids, I dish out my usual instructions: Snowdrop, I'll unsnap you, then take in your school stuff, then come back for Sparrow. In the meantime, you can dash inside.

I am surprised to see the cheepers by the walkway. They typically hide in either the garage or in a mesh of dense bushes to keep away from the wintry winds.







Snowdrop has put aside her fears of a cheeper peck for food and looks around to see if anyone is up for a gentle pet. She scores big -- the ever unpettable Cupcake and the mild mannered but shy Java both stand still as she touches their soft feathers.






Inside, the girl sets up an "office space" for herself in her play area. I tell her that her "desk" (aka my computer table) is too high, that there are better options, but you really can't talk her out of a spirited idea. And I have to admire her aesthetic: she puts out a little carpet, a pot of flowers -- it's all deliberate and rather lovely.





What are you working on, Snowdrop?
I'm making money.

There'd been a lot of talk lately about the cost of stuff and seizing the opportunity to inculcate, or at least seed ideas about earning, saving and frugality, I'd more than once told her that we cannot buy things unless we first make money through hard work for it.

She takes it seriously. For a long time today, she draws coins with "D" for dollar and "E" for I don't know what (maybe Euro?) imprinted on them. She has me cut them out.






She seems satisfied. For now.






I'm not sure how or why she switches venue, but as I put the little boy down again for a nap, Snowdrop sets up a ship made of blankets and couch pillows. We are sailors! Searching the seas for orka!
I rock our boat a little. She protests. We are on quiet seas. She beams.
I just love the journey!

(A self released photo: we are pretending someone on an island is taking photos of the boat!)





She asks Ed to come onboard.

And there we remain, for a long long time. Until her parents come to take the little ones home.






Later, much later, the boat is disassembled, leftover chili reheated for supper. You would think I'd use this time to catch up, zip ahead with tasks, but no. The hours after supper are always reserved for writing here, on Ocean. For popcorn and a movie. For a quick exchanged of stories, for quiet time.

Sunday

Typical, but a bit unusual. There! Five words that summarize the day well. Cold, but not too cold. Brown, gray. Like this:





It's the day when I push back the sleeves and clean. I do that. I like a tidy farmhouse.

Breakfast. Late again. But late is good -- it means something was accomplished from the getgo. Even before I start peeling the mango for the morning meal.





A mish mash of chores follows. That's typical too. If the weather is drizzly cold (half snow, but mostly rain), we're not going to look for outdoor projects. Or hikes. Or adventures. (Well, I'm not. Ed is motivated to take a walk. He comes back with wet hair plastered to his forehead.)



In the early afternoon, I have a mini adventure with Snowdrop and her mom. With little ones, you're always looking for clever things to do on the weekends and in December, options abound. This is the beauty of the month: it offers choices at a time when your imagination can get stuck, waiting for that snowfall, or bit of sunshine, or spring -- something to lure you out of your home once more. Today, we go visit reindeer. On this foggy drizzly day, you can actually venture out to hang out with real reindeer.

They're at the Bruce Company -- a landscaping place that also happens to sell trees and ornaments at Christmas time. Getting a few reindeer in your parking lot is an incredible lure! The line to have your picture taken with some elf like person and a reindeer is huge, despite the rain. Well, we're not hankering for a photo. We just want to see the animals. And we do see them.

Who knew that reindeer are this small!! No bigger than an Icelandic horse! When they pull Santa's sleigh, they look huge! Like elk, or moose.

Snowdrop is somewhat amused by the whole set up. These Santas that come and go, lines of kids, many quite intimidated by the guy with the white beard, the whole pageant is sort of fun, especially for a girl who sees herself as growing up in leaps and bounds.







And of course, predictably, we wander inside the store and I pick up a Christmas cactus, because the old cactus I had was as old as my puffer jacket and I finally had to put it to rest this summer.


I stop by Snowdrop's home after.

Yes, the joy is still there...






Sparrow comes down...






And of course, these moments are so delicious, so very undrizzly, ungray, so joy-filled!






(Snowdrop loves to trace shapes...)






(Sparrow is perfecting his sitting skills...)






Today, is, of course, the first day of Hanukkah. Snowdrop and Sparrow are going with their parents to friends to celebrate this holiday and so I wont see them for dinner tonight, but I am so very happy to see this little book on their table! I used to read All-of-a-Kind Family books to my girls (they depict the lives of a Jewish family living in the lower east side of New York in the early 20th century) some thirty years ago. It's a real whiff of nostalgia for me and a very nice description of Hanukkah for little Snowdrop.






Later, much later, I am in an unusually quiet farmhouse. Quiet for Sunday that is. I make a cup of coffee, take out a gingerbread cookie and listen to music, throwing an occasional glance at the Christmas cactus on the table.

December 1st

Snowdrop had said to me -- my teacher told me that winter starts in December so Saturday is the first day of winter! The little one is, of course, hoping for snow. But if we had some remaining patches in the morning (on my walk from the barn)...





... they were certainly washed away by midday. It rained today. And rained. And rained.

After working for most of the night, Ed slept in. A good day for it! Breakfast is very late.





Then it's back to bed for him.

The upside of having him upstairs while I do stuff downstairs is that I can play music. Holiday stuff. It's December after all! It's not that he would ever protest if I played it at other times, but I know that he prefers quiet. Today, I am sending sweet, faint little melodies up to the bedroom. Christmas lullabies.



In the late afternoon I have one small task and one large but lovely assignment.

The small task is to search for a puffer jacket. I had bought the one I wear on a daily basis 13 years ago and the stitching is starting to fail. I leave a trail of feathers wherever I go. I want one that will last me at least a dozen years going forward. I google "best puffer jacket." I read tons of reviews. I buy one on line. When I open the package, I find something so thin, so so lightweight, that I feel I am holding a jacket for a cool summer evening. I will send it back.

And so I go to our old reliable REI (sporting goods) store, where there are real people, ready to sell me real jackets. I tell the sales person -- I bought one on line, here, this one! But it's so thin! Would you believe that it got good rating for warmth? I need something that will do the job for just below freezing temps. Like the one I'm wearing, only not with holes and feathers floating every which way.

She looks at me, appears to do a mental calculation of my age, then tactfully responds -- we do in fact sell those thicker ones. People sometimes like the retro look...
Retro look? I should think that what I have is simply warmer.
No, just bulkier. We've moved away from that...


When I was significantly younger, I used to look at seniors in their quaintly dated apparel and wonder -- at what point do you stop noticing that you are no longer fashionable? I know the answer now -- some time way before 65.


My large and lovely assignment for today? It's to go over to the young family's house and help decorate their big tree.

Two things again highlight for me the passage of time: first -- it's the growing simplicity of the task before us. I wonder if we even pay attention to the fact how, incrementally, so many tough chores have been made easier... Take the lights: ages ago, we put things on the tree that threatened to burn the house down. Indeed, they probably did burn many a house down.

Along came electric lights. They were nice and hot, though at least we were done with the open flames. But the tree -- oh, how quickly it would dry from the heat of those lamps! (Don't keep the lights burning! Just one hour tonight, then turn them off! The tree will be a total stick before Christmas!)

Then came the LEDs. Cold. And in the last year -- cheap and bright. And unbreakable. No more shattered glass bulbs. No more rules about when to keep them burning. String them around -- you're done.


The second realization that time indeed is pushing us forward (so often in the best of ways) came when it was time to actually decorate the tree.

Back in the days when my girls were little, I loved the tree trimming evening. Christmas was of course the piece de resistance, but tree trimming had a quiet beauty to it that to me was just sublime. I'd bring out tree trimming snacks. The record player would work through a stack of Christmas vinyls, then in later years -- CDs (such progress! so much easier!), boxes of familiar ornaments would come out... it was all so very special. My daughters grew to love it as well and now comes the next generation, embracing this day as if it were the most glorious of them all. Here are just a few  photos from tonight. At the beginning, Sparrow is still napping. Toward the end, he is with us.


(Snacks are out: cheeses, prosciutto, gingerbread. Popcorn. Cider simmering, with spices. Sparkling wine for those who love sparkling wine.)






(Snowdrop comes up, sees the tree, runs for the two new ornaments that always begin the trimming. She is so fast, that I miss her first placement. I catch this second one.)











(A stool helps her reach the higher places...)






(Taking a pause: she is coming off of two play dates today. Plus, she is anxious to put the ribbon on top. Lucas, the cat, rests as well, for no good reason.)






Tree done.






Happy, happy girl!






(Sparrow is up!)


 



(How about a Christmas story?)






A couple of slices of pizza later, we're done.


Back at the farmhouse now. I hear hail on the rooftop. I hear the winds. But, inside, we're snug, happy, grateful.